


Have To Be

by destronomics



Category: The Office (US)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-25
Updated: 2009-11-25
Packaged: 2017-10-03 17:13:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/destronomics/pseuds/destronomics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pam learns the rules of the game.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Have To Be

The fax machine is broken again, or at least the desperately flashing red light tells Pam that it's broken. She knows it's lying, more important than that, she knows it's _alive_ and can hear her perfectly well.

"Goddamnit."

A nudge with her finger does little to curb the blinking red light.

"Come on." She realizes she's talking to herself more, now that the cameras are everywhere and she's by herself. Maybe she's just trying to fill them in, maybe she's just trying to make them understand that she doesn't normally just sit in utter silence and fume. She's been doing that a lot more lately, since-

The fax machine utters a pathetic little sputter, and Pam curses again.

**

The temp -Ryan. He deserves to be called by his name, because he's no longer with the temp agency and is now, bemoaning loudly for the cameras to hear, the proud owner of a health plan card with his name on it and everything. He likes to tell the cameras that it pays for business school, but Pam is really bored lately and she's always been perceptive and she hasn't seen a textbook on his desk in ages.

Sometimes she has to remind herself to feel bad about that, but then sometimes she remembers that she's still here too.

Stones, glass houses and all that.

**

"So, how, how does this all work?" Ryan asks, gesturing at the candy bowl.

Pam doesn't look up, instead sighs. "You just take one."

"Oh. That's it?"

"Sometimes, if you're feeling up to it, you say thank you." Pam still doesn't look up from her paper, having decided that the scowl on her face was hardly deserved.

Ryan doesn't say much of anything to her after that, but sometimes, if he forgets to pack a lunch, he'll take a jelly bean and whisper a "thank you."

Pam pretends not to miss anything.

**

It takes two weeks for her to apologize by coming to his desk -all but six feet away- and setting the bowl down.

"Take your favorite color, now," She looks over her shoulder at Dwight, "before it's too late."

"What?"

"Take your favorite color."

Ryan looks at her, trying to decipher her expression before reaching hesitantly over to the bowl.

Pam gives him an encouraging smile, but it doesn't seem to help. "I'm not going to bite, you know, I did remember to pack a lunch."

"I know that." He reaches in and pulls out a green one. Pam laughs.

Ryan looks at her, his hand half way to his mouth, "what?"

Shaking her head, Pam returns to her desk.

The next day gets a bit easier, and then so does the next.

**

"The red one, dammit, the red one."

"I saw it, but I'm getting rid of all the fours first, since I can."

Ryan shakes his head, "Just admit it, you're prejudiced."

"Against reds?"

"Native Americans, they prefer to be called."

Pam doesn't look up from her screen, intent on tracking down the last card: a wily four of clubs. "Well, maybe next time they won't scalp my grandmother."

"Oh really? Your grandmother?" Ryan scoffs.

Pam nods coolly, "Nana didn't really like it, said she felt naked without it."

"Her scalp."

Pam nods again.

"Was this before or after your entire family died of dysentery while crossing a river?" The sound of his fingers in the candy jar makes Pam look up to see Ryan giving her that sardonic 'if you say so' look.

He's slightly hunched over her counter, one hand blindly moving around in the candy jar, the other one resting against the 'out' paper bin.

She quickly looks down.

She thinks about a lot things in the few seconds it takes the cards to fall, but mostly she just thinks one thing and one thing only, she thinks: _this is not how it happened_.

And then she thinks: _this is not how it starts_.

**

But it does. Or it will. Or something. There's an office party and Pam, normally, doesn't drink but she remembers the last time she did and she wants to feel something close to that again, so she gets creative. Rum and Cola. Rum and Sprite. And then the bottles are empty and it's rum and vodka and she's not that desperate so she pours all of it down the drain in the span it takes her to catch her breath.

She catches her balance on Ryan's arm and Pam feels her eyes go wide when she realizes that Ryan is looking out for her; making sure she's okay in his weird, passively belligerent way. She finds herself feeling a little grateful; she finds herself feeling a little-

And then there's a supply closet and so she goes in because all of a sudden she doesn't trust herself not to do something so completely stupid that, even though the cameraman seems to be her friend, will be too good to pass up.

So it's the supply closet for her, and a box of white letter paper for a seat, and the shelf of highlighter pens as a place to rest her head.

She laughs, for a moment, and then stops.

The door opens and Ryan scoots in, cautious.

"Are you-"

Pam nods.

He looks at her, his face taking on that expression that Pam finds she has already come to recognize. She knows that if she were sober enough, the fact that she has already categorized Ryan's expressions would be something that would spark a sad sort of recognition within her, something that might make her miss _him_. But she's not sober and Pam is momentarily grateful for any excuse (any excuse, anything, anything at all) to step back and just be a girl in a supply closet, a little bit drunk.

"Close the door," she tells him and he does.

And she thinks: _maybe this happened before._

And she thinks: _maybe this is how it starts._


End file.
